Clichés
by ephemereal
Summary: The ending we all wanted.


Author's Note: So what's up with this, guys? You got what you wanted so now you're not gonna review anymore? This is making me sad! I thought about waiting to post this since I've only gotten 3 reviews on Facing, but I'm not _that_ mean.

This is set directly after the rooftop scene. It's not in any way connected to any of my other fics.

**This is, in fact, smut. That means sex. Therefore if you're offended by sex, there is no point in reading this fic. You've been warned.**

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**Clichés**

"Angela!" She was already to her car when he caught up, fumbling for her keys with one hand, and still clutching the concealed Spear in the other. She didn't turn, just kept on groping in her purse. She looked flustered, he thought, and wondered how many unsavory eyes were already on her from the shadows. He knew there was no preventing it, she was bound to be a target now, and yet he found himself feeling oddly territorial. As he watched, she paused for a moment, let her bag drop to her shoulder and rested her forehead against the frame of the car. He got the idea that she was crying.

"Angela." Constantine closed the distance between them, started to put a hand on her shoulder, then drew back when she jumped. "Sorry. Didn't mean to scare you."

Angela sighed heavily, brushed a hand across her face before turning back toward him. She looked exhausted now that her shields were down, he thought, and mentally chided himself for failing to notice it earlier. He knew she'd been coming from the funeral, had seen it in the paper, but hadn't known what to say.

"Did you need something else?" She was using her professional voice, he thought, refusing to show him any of the emotions he could see she was fighting.

"I'm…sorry. I should've asked how you are."

"I'm…fine." She sounded anything but convinced.

"Come up for a minute."

Angela smiled, shook her head. "I'm fine. Really. Don't bother."

"C'mon. You're shivering." He took her by the arm, led her away from the car. Angela pulled out of his grasp after a moment and wrapped her arms across her chest. She followed him up the stairs and into his darkened apartment silently, on autopilot. Constantine shook his head in sympathy. He'd been there entirely too many times himself.

They sat on the edge of the bed because he didn't have a sofa. The wire cage was open, but the bars cast weird shadows over them in the faux moonlight from the city outside. It felt oddly intimate, and awkward at the same time. Constantine thought about raiding the cupboards for drinks first, but decided alcohol was probably the last thing she needed at the moment. He didn't bother to turn the lights on. It seemed to fit the mood somehow.

"So."

"It was just…so…surreal." She shook her head, pressed a hand to her temple. "Jesus, I can't believe this is happening. I mean as long as there's a case, I can do something. Now it's just…" Angela shrugged again.

Constantine looked at the floor. He felt like he should say something, but could think of nothing to say. It had been so long since he'd cared about interacting with another person he hardly remembered how.

"You look better," said Angela at last, breaking the awkward silence.

"Why do you care?" He couldn't push the question aside any longer. For once it wasn't intended to be sarcastic, just honest. He couldn't fathom the compassion she seemed to have for him; as far as he was concerned, he was impossible to tolerate.

"I—" She shrugged. "You don't think I'm crazy.

Constantine allowed himself half a smile. He felt a sort of calm in her presence, beneath the tug of longing.

"No," he said at last. "I don't think you're crazy."

Angela sighed and he turned back toward her. She looked fragile now, he thought, and he wondered just how painful the funeral had been. If there'd been anyone for her to turn to. Suddenly he thought he wouldn't mind filling that position.

"You gonna be okay with all this?"

Her eyes looked strangely liquid in the moonlight. As Constantine watched, he thought he could see her shields breaking down.

"Damn it," she whispered, wiping a hand across her eyes for tears which had yet to fall. "Sorry, I don't…I don't cry much."

"Really? Thought it was a regular practice." Constantine quirked an eyebrow at her, hoping she'd know it was a joke. Probably not the best thing to say given the circumstances, but he'd always been shit at sympathy.

"Fuck you," muttered Angela, though he thought she was smiling a little now.

Very gently Constantine moved her hair off the nape of her neck, took hold of her shoulders. On impulse he leaned down and kissed the skin above her collar. She shivered under his touch, and he watched goosebumps rise on the pale expanse of her neck. The muscles of her back and shoulders were moulded in tension, and he worked his fingers over them. Wordlessly, she turned and wrapped her arms around his waist, rested her head on his shoulder.

"Thanks," she murmured, close enough that her breath made him shiver. "I know…what you did. All of it."

"No problem," he said again, and she laughed weakly. Suddenly he was inspired to keep going. "All part of a day's work. Save the world. Rescue the damsel in distress."

"You forgot something though," said Angela, wiping the back of one hand across her eyes.

"What's that?"

"The kiss among the rubble. I mean if we're going to play clichés."

"Oh. Right." For a moment Constantine hesitated, afraid to jump to the wrong conclusions, but he'd sensed this with her all along. A kind of inexplicable understanding, a comfort he'd seldom felt before. "Did you want one of those? I mean, I don't have any rubble here, but…"

Angela turned and kissed him before he could say anything else. She kissed hard from the start, but then she'd never struck him as shy. Constantine smiled when she finally pulled away.

"There. Now I'm done working."

"Time to relax then?"

Angela's black jacket unbuttoned with a couple of easy tugs. As he kissed her again, it occurred to him that he was probably catching her at her weakest, but he'd never been much for chivalry, and she certainly wasn't complaining. The jacket slid off leaving her with a black tanktop underneath, and he ran his hands down her bare arms, making her shiver again.

"Stop that," she laughed, pushing him back against the pillows and attacking his own shirt buttons.

"Stop what? You're the one doing the pushing here."

"Making me feel like…like…" She got his shirt open and trailed off, immediately distracted by the tattoos lacing his chest and back.

"A damsel in distress?"

"Yes!"

Constantine sat up far enough to let the shirt slide back off his shoulders before losing his train of thought again. She was tracing her fingers over the tattoos, exciting all kinds of psychic energy she had no way to know about. It felt as though crackles of electricity were running through his body. He let his eyes fall closed, and Angela chuckled deep in her throat. He pulled her shirt over her head and tossed it to the side. She drew in a sharp breath as he cupped her breasts through the thin lace of her bra.

"Thought you were a good Catholic girl," teased Constantine.

"Doesn't mean I can't be tempted," she grated as he unclasped the bra and tossed it to the floor as well. He swept his fingers over bare skin now, grinning at the rise of goosebumps in places he hadn't seen before. He snaked one hand up under her skirt, and she shifted so she was lying full on top of him, one hand still on his shoulder, the other tearing at the covers with a white-knuckled grip. For a moment he was aware of nothing but the feeling of bare skin on skin, then she kissed him again and it was impossible to focus on anything at all.

After a moment he somehow got his wits about him enough to actually find the zipper on her skirt. She had one hand on his belt buckle, but she wasn't really getting anywhere, and the very presence of her hand was maddening. Somewhat more chaotically than he would've liked, he managed to roll so that she was beneath him.

"So you have to be the man?" she asked, laughing breathlessly.

"Hey, if you're the damsel in distress…" It was getting harder and harder to form complete sentences.

"Then you've got to rescue me," she said, as she finally managed to get his pants undone.

"Thought I already did that." He slid her skirt and underwear down her hips in one fluid motion, then kicked his pants and boxers off as well. Angela grinned devilishly and moved her fingers lower on his skin, tracing imaginary tattoos now. Constantine bit his lip and dug his fingers into her back, thinking that if he ever managed to get out of this position it would be a miracle.

"Do it again," she whispered, her words lost in breath as he pushed up into her. "Don't stop."

He let his eyes fall closed again as she moved against him, her lips never leaving his. She was solid and warm against him, and for the first time in weeks he was able to let his mind wander without fear of the nightmarish visions which haunted his subconscious. He let himself be lost in the waves of pleasure she was sending through him, an energy both physical and psychic.

When it was over he was left with a thick, heavy calm. It suddenly occurred to him that it had been months since he'd felt anything like release. Angela had tears on her cheeks but she was smiling. His entire body seemed to be tingling with renewal.

"Angela?" There were a million things he needed to ask, but somehow he couldn't come up with a single one.

"Leave me alone," she murmured, eyes already closed.

"What?"

"Be quiet and let me sleep." In the pale light coming from the window, she was certainly the most beautiful thing he'd ever seen. He knew she was kidding, but it made him wonder what he'd just done.

Whether he really had any chance at the ecstasy he'd just tasted.

Whether it would mean anything in the morning.

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Review please! 


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